


A gentle affection from a poor first impression

by orphan_account



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28880115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The biggest rush, and half the reason Mrs. Bennett pushes her daughters out into society so quickly and ill prepared, is the lack of a male heir.  If a son were had, or rather found, there would be less oressure to wed.  Mrs. Bennett could listen to her daughters, allowing her eldest to show affection in her own time.  If it also helps another daughter make a match then all the better.  She has her hands full with her two youngest daughters and the new heir.Not mrs. Bennett's povCannon is dead, I needed a distraction, this was the result.  Hope yall enjoy
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet/Charles Bingley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

His words tumble through my head quite without my permission. I have never before been so insulted. Not that I truly care for his opinion, that pompous oaf, but to say such a thing at an assembly. Even if his words were only heard by a few it wont be long before the whole of Barrington knows. And how shameful am I, to be singled out in such a way. 

Dearest Jane sleeps peacefully and I havent the heart to wake her. No doubt her own dreams are far more pleasant than mine this night. For her night was filled with such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley. Even when he danced with others, his eye was drawn to her. 

So I move carefully from the bed, taking my robe from where it hangs on the end. The floor is cold beneath my bare feet so slippers are a must. Perhaps a cup of tea will soothe my mind if not my ire.

I do not bother with a candlestick. I have not needed the light to guide my steps in my own home since I was a small child. My fingerstips trace along the banister as I silently move down the steps.

It is as I step into the kitchen that I hear the pigs squealing in distress. Drat! If some thumpkin is stealing one of our pigs...

I rush outside with little care for my poor slippers. The kitchen door opens to the backyard. The chicken coop, surrounded by an ankle high fence, is first on the right. Just past it is the small pen where the pigs stay.

Sure enough, the shadow of a young man is hurrying away. I almost shout after him but as I'm only in my nightshirt and robe, its safer to let him go. Instead I go to the pen to see what he had taken. The pigs, fat and well cared for though stressed from being disturbed, are gathering around the far side of the pen. I move along the fence to better see what has their attention. 

Shock courses through my very marrow. He didnt take anything. He left something! A bundle of cloth that has caught the pigs attention. 

Dread clutches my throat, stifling my breath. I leap over the pen with my nightshirt raised high in one fist, heedless of the mud that nearly swallows my slippers. I snatch up the bundle, nearly getting thrown by the surrounding pigs. Scrambling back over the fence is more difficult and I lose both slippers in the process.

Shifting the bundle I gasp in a relieved breath as the babe moves. Its too dark to properly see so I hurry back inside and light a candle with shaking hands, the babe pressed close to my chest. The candle flickers, rising up to offer soft illumination.

The babe is bare and newly born. A boy child, with long thin limbs and the birthing sack bundled in the cloth with him. His head is full of slick dark hair and his nose is a small button of a thing.

He doesnt appear injured, not that I can see. But goodness... who would throw a newborn babe in a pig pen? What a horrible thing to do!

Theres no question of what to do next. Father must be notified! I hurry up to my parents room with candle and child in arms, the babe clutched close to sooth him while the candle flickers dramatically from moving so swiftly.

Rushing in startles them awake, mother shouting in surprise. I close the door behind me and hurry to the bed, explaining quietly as I pass the bundle to my mother who struggles before taking him. I have to explain it three times a piece before they understand, both looking shocked between myself and the babe.

Mother starts to wail, demanding her smelling salts and decrying her nerves. Father tells her more than once to be silent, yes and thank you. Mothers wailing sets the babe to cry, an echoing sound that seems to pierce the very walls. Father demands the tale from me twice more before he is satisfied.

The door opens but father hurries to block the way. My sisters gather in the hall, questions shouted through the door. I shrug away my robe, stained with mud as it is, and take the babe back from mother before she drops the poor dear. She, of course, continues her wordless wailing in distress.

Father speaks over my sisters, issuing orders to fetch linens and warm water. He then closes and bars the door, turning back to us with a serious thoughtful brow. There is something measuring in his gaze as it shifts from myself and the babe to mother's loud caterwauling.

"Oh Frannie, enough! Settle yourself now and heed my words," father tells mother sternly in a low but commanding voice. 

She blinks up at him in astonishment, her wailing shocked to silence at his admonishment. He continues gravely, his gaze holding hers, "For how long have you demanded a son of me, Mrs. Bennet? For how long have you dispared over your daughters future? How oft do you remind me of my own mortality? Of the delicate threads of safety that shall be lost when I am returned to the Father?"

Mothers mouth hangs open. Its clear in her eyes that she struggles to grasp the situation, struggles to understand what father is urging her to realise. Its not a bad plan, and certainly no one will know the difference.

Mother seems to straighten, becoming settled before our eyes. She nods to father, ordering him to retrieve the doctor and for me to hand back the babe. Father leaves, a secretive smile flashed my way as he goes. My sisters voices stop him in the hall. Their squeals of excitements errupt victoriously as he tells them they have gained a brother this night.

I watch as she pulls the cloth away from him. She tosses it back to me, whispering frantically, "Get rid of it quick!"

I wrap it in my muddy robe and kick it as far under the bed as it will go. She nods appreciatively before looking the babe over carefully. A determined look passes over her features, her voice steady, "A son."

Then she did the strangest thing I have ever witnessed. She pushed the covers down, kicking them away, and dumped the water pitcher from the bedstand onto her lap. She hands the babe dismissively back to me, keeping the birth sack and rubbing it roughly against her legs and the bed beneath her.

The door opens abruptly, my sisters spilling in. Mother flails back dramatically with bloodstained hands and thighs, a birth sack between her spread knees. I must admit to standing still in shock at the swift changes in mood that overtook her. 

Lydia and Kitty are the first to pounce on mother, squeals of excitement and surprise escaping them both. Neither is properly dressed, nightshirts and hair disheveled and neither wearing a robe or slippers. They clamor over the mess to pepper mother with hugs and kisses aplenty. 

I turn with the naked babe slowly calming against my chest. Jane reaches my side, her hand steady on my arm as she looks wide eyed at the babe. I shrug uncertainly, "It looks as if we have a brother."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

News spread far faster than even I anticipated. Mother stayed abed all day, being pampered lovingly by her daughters. Jane and I took to care for the babe. And Mrs. Bolger, the midwife, found a wetnurse for the babe in record time. 

"It's not uncommon," she assured us, "for an older mother to be late with her milk. Some even choose to use a wetnurse for convenience."

Mrs. Lucas came over at tea time where Kitty and Lydia were excited to detail the whole thing. Jane and I added here and there but for the most it was Lydia and Kitty to tell the tale. And it was quite the tale they told.

Within the hour of her visit, we had five more families to call. Jane took care to act as hostess while mother rested. The wetnurse tended the babe without complaint or censure. Nearly every family sent at least a note of congratulations by supper. Father and mother were both nearly floating with pride, mother at the attention and father at tricking so many.

Our first night with the babe was anything but peaceful. Tucked away though he was with the wetnurse so mother can rest, his cries carried. Lydia was the loudest to complain at breakfast, bemoaning her troubled sleep. 

Father chuckled, "Be wary, Lydia dear, for babes are loud and messy creatures. Did you not tell your own mother how you would have a dozen of your own?"

Mr. Hill arrived before she could answer with a card for father. He dabbed at his mouth and accepted the card, nodding his agreement. Jane attempts to settle Lydia but its quite a lost cause. She vehemently denies ever wanting a dozen babies.

Mr. Hill left while father answered our curious looks, "It would seem, my dears, that Misters Bingley and Darcy will be arriving soon, having sent their card ahead by half an hours time."

"Goodness!" Jane exhales breathlessly, her eyes wide.

I grasp her hand, pulling her up from her seat. She stumbles as we race up the stairs, Lydia and Kitty hurrying past us. Mary follows disinterestedly. 

Its a mad scrambling for each of us to get dressed. Many hands tug at laces and twist curls until we're all decently attired and just in time as it would seem.

Lydia and Kitty are first down the stairs and into the parlor where mother sits holding the swaddled sleeping babe. The wetnurse, Mrs. Holder, sits quietly in a corner. We hurry to our places and its barely enough time to catch our breath before the gentlemen are announced.

Mr. Bingley is the first through the door, looking smart in his red waistcoat. His eyes look to Jane first, a glowing smile visible as he approaches her. His congratulations are past his lips before he even looks to mother although the words seem to remind him to look. He bows gracefully if eagerly and praises mother on such a handsome son.

Mother twitters excitedly, gushing welcome and praise back to him. She goes so far as to thrust the babe into his arms and if not for Jane's hurried assistance he might've dropped the poor lad. Mother looked just as startled by his clumsy handling but watched proudly as Jane set him to rights.

"His name is Edward," Jane tells him gently, a blush upon her cheeks, "father named him for mother's brother."

Mr. Bingley looks far more enraptured by Jane, to the point of nearly forgetting the babe in his arms until the dear one wiggles in displeasure. Mother hurries to take him back, cooing at him until he settles.

"You are quite aglow, Mrs. Bennett," Mr. Bingley says charmingly.

Mother simpers happily, boasting of her blessing and bemoaning her pain. Lydia jumps in to say, "Its was a mess too, blood everywhere!"

"It was!" Kitty agrees.

Mother shushes them both, turning back to Mr. Bingley to assure him, "It was only a little blood, not a great mess at all."

"Yes it was, Mama!" Lydia argues, "You were so weak you could barely raise your head and there was such a mess on the bed!"

"Lydia!" Mother scolds, "You're making it far worse than it was! I was only tired and it was not much trouble."

Lydia looked ready to argue, Kitty shifting beside her to give her agreement. Both fall silent, their eyes turned towards the door and their countenance dimmed. I follow their gaze where stands Mr. Darcy. His tall silhouette is dressed in rich fabrics of steady colors, nothing either bold or unusual but perfectly respectable.

He nods severly, his words calm and measured, "I hear you have had quite the surprise of late, welcoming a healthy son into your family. Many blessings upon you, Mrs. Bennett."

She nods, not cold but quite indifferent. Her attention remains on Mr. Bingley and Jane. Her hopes are clear on her face just as their affection for one another are clear on theirs. Mother seems to forget instantly that Mr. Darcy is even there.

"Will you not join us, Mr. Darcy?" I offer politely. If he can be civil then so too can we. After all, he came all the way out here to offer his congratulations. The least we can do is welcome him.

He joins me on the settee, taking Jane's place unknowingly. Jane ushers Mr. Bingley to the other settee and joins him there. Its certainly pushing propriety but as no one objects it should be alright. 

Mother is thrilled and in a loud manner, ushers her three younger daughters from the room to assist her. Mary follows the lot indifferently, with the wetnurse moving last. This leaves just the four of us.

Mr. Bingley hurries to again offer his congratulations, mostly to Jane. She smiles shyly and thanks him again. Both seem intent to forget the room and those therein.

Mr. Darcy quite awkwardly inquires, "I hope you do not think me rude but I had no idea your mother was soon to welcome a child."

"She was not," I answer, hurrying to add, "Or rather, we did not expect her to be. Such was our surprise when mother woke in pain and a son was welcomed so quickly we could scarse believe."

He nods, "Yes, it seemed to be a most joyous surprise indeed."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It is quite the talk of the town, our mother giving birth at her age and with no warning of the babe growing. Father tells everyone its our prayers answered which they wholeheartedly agree, forgetting fathers dubious piousness. Mother reminds then that Abraham's wife bore a child in her elder years so why then could she not. Mother thrives on the attention, glowing proudly for all to see. Father thrives on the knowledge that only we three possess.

Its a strange turn in our lives but not an unwelcome one. It has relieved a heavy weight from all of our shoulders that I did not even realize we bore. No longer does mother remind us of our desperate need for husbands as now there is a son to shield us, even as he is just a swaddled babe.

Miraculously, Mother's caterwauling seems to have dampened some of Lydia's most obnoxious behaviors. She and Kitty are still quite ridiculous but both have sworn off marriage for a few years more. Both still insist they will dance at any asembly but now they do not worry to attract any sort of husband for some time. This change of attitude has settled them somewhat which is in itself a blessing.

The christening went well for us all. It looked as if the entire town came out to celebrate. Mother was glowing, nearly beyond comprehension at all the praise and well wishes she recieved. Father managed to maintain a serious air for most of it and if he fell to joyous laughter more than once, no one called him on it.

The wetnurse holds young Edward for longer and longer amounts of time each day but she doesnt seem troubled by the burden. Certainly she is compensated graciously for her time and efforts and so has little cause for complaint. Sometimes I worry that mother will not be able to truly love him but other times she seems so besotted. It is a worry I am unable to share at present.

It has not all been bad news. Misters Bingley and Darcy, along with the formers sisters on occasion, have visited our home thrice in two weeks time. It is clear to all that Jane and Mr. Bingley are quite taken with one another.

In fact, one evening when mrs Phillips joined us for supper, she noticed the very same thing. She said, "Oh, look how she glows around him! I dare say her heart is quite lost."

Though she spoke mostly to mother it was loud enough for me to hear. Jane sits with Mr. Bingley, his sister Caroline, Lydia and Kitty. They play cards where Mr. Bingley seems more intent on his whispered conversations with Jane than on his hand. Likewise, she is only barely able to hold her own as he maintains most of her attention.

Movement shifts behind me. I turn away from my book to catch Mr. Darcy's eye where he stands near the windows. He seems to take my glance as an encouragement for conversation. 

"Is she obvious in her like?" He asks quietly, mindful of how his voice carries. "I would not think to tempt a sisters confidence but ms. Bennett seems rather unruffled to my eye."

"That mearly shows your lack of understanding of the character you are viewing," I reply quietly, chaffing a bit at my sisters affections being questioned. As if such a sour man could understand such love. "If you knew my dearest sister at all you would see clearly how her eyes shine with affection. How she turns to him as the flower chases the sun. She has affection for him from the first sight of him and his kind smile."

I feel my cheeks burn. I should not have spoken so brazenly nor given away such confidence. No doubt he feels quite insulted at my own reprimand. 

Rather than offended at my outburst, quiet though it was, he seems settled. Some small measure of tension bleeds out of his frame. It occurs to me then that he worries for his friend. 

I am reminded of previous conversations with mr. Bingley. He spoke often of how good a friend mr. Darcy is to him. He went so far as to say he would trust mr. Darcy over any other.

His smile, small and barely there though it is, seems to gentle his profile. He looks less severe and somewhat relieved. I feel a rush of shame at my judgmental thoughts. 

How can I call the man sour when I barely know him? Did not mr. Bingley tell me how good a man he is? Have I labeled him so sour because of his slight against me at asembly? Surely I am not so shallow as that.

"While mr. Bingley shows his heart quite openly," I offer gently, hoping to relieve some of the sting of my earlier words, "my sister is quite shy. Rather there are a thousand small intricacies, noticable most to those who know her well, that show she is as completely besotten as he."

"A lovelier pair would be difficult to find," he offers with a small barely there smile.

It is an olive branch to be sure and a most welcome one. I return his smile, relieved that they will have his support should their affection lead to a most happy occasion. Surely it can only be good for one mr. Bingley estemes so much to support such a match.

Jane receives a letter at breakfast the next morning from Caroline Bingley. Mother insists she go on horseback. Jane and I exchange a defeted glance. Oh, how we thought mother was past such nonsense! But she will meddle where she does. Such is the way of mothers when they have five daughters to see married.


End file.
